I.
My eyes are heavy in my head,
or more accurately, my lids,
but my mind is running figure-eights,
thoroughly, like fits,
and at the cross of the eight,
the little pinch, the skinny waist,
one point manifests itself to every sense,
sight, touch, smell, sound, and taste.
This one point dares consume me,
my skin condusive, tinder,
and my blood begins to boil,
and reason have I devouring to hinder?
I don't think so.
If not for the advancement of theory to fact,
for what does a man live?
Everything else is merely cobblestones
along a bridge, civility, politik, tact.
Ignore the brightened
neon agitprop I say,
and carry yourselves headlong.
Nothing else have we
on which to agree,
but on the idea to think,
this alone elevates us above
the throngs of simians,
gibbering like themselves.
Gideon himself believed in thought,
believed in product placement as well,
and with simple words this world
has onto it been wrought
with sorrow and beauty,
but of course, hell hath no fury
like an illiterate with a Bible.
II.
You might as well give her a brick,
one cannot force an entry with a book.
Nor will she, however,
understand that blatant libel,
but it's irrelevant,
as this is the last place
I'd expect her to look.
She, indubitably,
is she of good fortune,
or rather good misfortune,
or rather than rather she
of a wheel of fortune,
a wheel that seems to have
finally
stopped
spinning.
I fear now she is a victim
among victims,
perpetrated against by they
whom she had once before wronged,
and if they were arsonists,
they'd be fuckin' torchin',
and she certainly wouldn't be grinning.
If she has wounds,
and I'm sure she does,
or will soon get them,
she better get licking them,
because she's about to rub up
against those pillars of salt
she created looking back.
A funny thing about those pillars,
and I'm sure it's common knowledge,
they were once your friends.
Sure, I see a few tears aflowing,
but I'm **** sure its the salt in the eyes.
This carnal kernel of misogynistic
jibba-jabba came to my attention,
my attention, not because I cared too much,
but because of plain 'ol curiousity.
You see, want, and you shall recieve.
Ask, and you shall fuckin'
find the **** out.
Simple as that.
Now, following that logic,
and I try to do so with furiousity,
even a mental gimp'll
come to a reasonable conclusion eventually.
III.
Conflicting sides.
One can discover the truth sensually.
I believe that the ability to perceive
people's emotions is as great a gift as any.
And of course that means
one can decipher motive.
Who has motive?
Ah, to know that,
you know the perpetrator.
I discover motive sensually,
and the trail for the contractual
assailant has been had,
the jury has deliberated,
and they find GUILTY!
Oh dear lord!
Can it be true?
Yes,
and based on prior history,
it ought not come as much surprise.
One thing left to deside, of course.
The sentence.